Miscellaneous Fairytales: Volume Two
by BadgerLeopard
Summary: Three more tales to tickle the ribs and scare the mind. Dare you open the door to this mix of wonders and nightmares?
1. Radio B Breakfast

**Radio B Breakfast**

"Hello and you're listening to Radio B Breakfast!" Mark Abinash yelled, flicking the switch that played the jingle 'Radio B Breakfast' in a sing-song voice, "And now, all the way from the eighties, it's the Buggles with that classic hit!"  
He pressed play and 'Video Killed the Radio Star' started to play, meaning that Mark could take a well-earned break. He took out a Kitkat bar and a bottle of Pepsi and relaxed for a bit, occasionally sipping his Pepsi every now and then.  
He had been the host of Radio B Breakfast for eight years now and had been so successful thanks to the fact that he had learnt everything about being a radio show presenter from Alan Partridge.  
Unfortunately though, the song soon ended and the focus was now back on him.

Kelly Stevenson, the producer of Radio B, was stood facing Mark from outside the recording booth, pleased at how successful the show was going. She'd popped out for a muffin and a flat white, as she'd been very peckish.  
"And now let's see what messages you've been sending in." Mark announced, glancing at his computer and smiling, "Ellen from Appleton has said that she wants me to play 'Staying Alive' by the Bee Gees. You know what Ellen? I'll do exactly that!"  
He pressed play and the familiar tones of 'Staying Alive' began to play. He then took his headphones off and noticed Kelly.  
"How am I doing Kelly? What are the figures?" Mark asked, nibbling on his Kitkat.  
"Well, good as usual. Not so good in southwest London though, perhaps could be a little bit more grime."  
Mark raised his brown eyebrows.  
"More grime? What's that supposed to mean? Should I swear?"  
"No, Mark. It's what young people call rap music now."  
"I see."

Mark had decided to take Kelly's advice and that had gone very well. The audience figures had shot up and Mark had ended his show on a high. But he had decided to watch the new presenter, Justin Walker, do his show. He just felt that Justin had a particular feel: something that made you want to stay near him.  
"Hello, Radio B listeners, and welcome to the Justin Walker lunchtime show!" Justin cheered, accidentally playing the jingle for Mark's show and looking awkwardly at Kelly.  
"Seems like he knows what he's doing." Mark sarcastically commented, before noticing that Justin had left an old pocket watch outside the recording booth. He felt drawn to it, as if a force of some sort was calling out to him. But he resisted it, for a while at least.  
"Sorry about that listeners," Justin said, "I'll try not to make those sorts of errors in the future. For now though, it's time for a bit of Justin Timberlake!"  
He pressed play and a song by Timberland began to play. Justin sighed and looked at Kelly.  
"Please let the figures be good." he pleaded, only to receive a shaking head from Kelly.

The next day, Mark was back, presenting his breakfast show, only to notice that Justin was watching him from outside the recording booth.  
"Now then, I believe we have a caller on the line." Mark announced, "Jess from Nottingham is with us today. How are things going Jess?"  
"They're going well, Mark. Can I tell you a story?" Jess asked, her muffled voice coming through the speakers.  
"Certainly."  
But Mark couldn't hear Jess's story. All he could hear was a voice. It felt powerful and commanding, drawing him to the pocket watch he had stolen from Justin.  
_"I am the night and you will let me in."_ the voice whispered again and again, and only Mark could hear it.  
"Mark? Mark?" Jess repeated, interrupting his thoughts.  
"Sorry, just zoned out a bit. What was the story again?"

The incident yesterday didn't end well. Mark had been given a warning because of him not listening to a tragic story involving a cat and a can of baked beans, yet the voice from the pocket watch still called to him. It was as if it wanted him for something: it needed a host.  
Justin was doing his show now and, remarkably, the audience figures were better than Mark's show. Justin had somehow managed to steal all of Mark's skills. The cheeky little pest.  
_"Let me in. Let me into your mind. My old body forgot about me. But you're obsessed with me, Mark. You're addicted to me."_ the voice said once again, _"Let me in and all of your troubles will be solved."  
_Mark looked at Justin, then at Kelly and then at his right pocket. He reached into it and took out the pocket watch.  
"Mark, what are you doing?" Kelly wondered, "Are you alright?"  
"I'm setting myself free." Mark said with a smile, before opening the pocket watch: orange energy flooded into his eyes, transforming his mind into the mind of a Time Lord. He felt all his memories change yet his human memories remained. Another heart suddenly came into place where there had been only one before.  
"Justin, call an ambulance!" Kelly yelled, looking at Mark in fear, as he grinned at her.  
"Now this feels different. I don't think any Time Lord has been able to enter a pocket watch from one body and leave into another. But, then again, I'm not like any Time Lord." Mark said, advancing towards Kelly. She edged back, towards the recording booth door, curling her hands into fists.  
"Mark, can you hear me? Something's gone wrong with you but don't worry, an ambulance is on its way."  
"I'm not Mark. Not any more."  
"Then who the hell are you?"  
"I am the Count. And I am so very hungry."

The ambulance team entered the studio ten minutes later to find two corpses and a note, written in black ink. The note had three words on it which frightened everyone who read it from then onwards.  
THEY TASTED GOOD.

**THE END**


	2. The Making of 'The Manor'

**The Making of 'The Manor'**

Samuel Barnes sat on a chair behind one of the many cameras and smiled what he could see through the lense. As far as he was concerned, he was making horror movie magic. He'd invited Britain's top actors to star in his latest production: _The Manor_. It had been based off of an unpublished short story that his grandfather, Jonathan Barnes-Wallace, had written twenty years ago, about a group of travellers who stay at a manor for the night and get bumped off one by one. Like Agatha Christie, but more murder and less mystery.  
"And, action!" he yelled, pleased with the shot. He watched as the scene that he had written took place, before noticing something. What was that starfish doing on set? This wasn't some silly sci-fi movie. This was a full-on horror that would beat _The Conjuring _at the box office by a country mile.  
"And cut!" he yelled, before stepping out of his chair and asking, "Can someone get that starfish removed please? I don't want it here and I don't need it here. Thank you."

Sarah Wilkinson decided to try and remove the starfish that had snuck its way onto the set. She had been part of the prosthetics and make-up team on _The Manor_ ever since it had begun filming and naturally she knew that there had been a mismatch of props. She could tell. Her mother called it 'your unique talent, darling'.  
"You're a big one, aren't you?" she said, thinking that the large, green starfish was, admittedly, a bit cute. That was before she saw the massive eye at the centre of the starfish open and glance around, as if in amazement.  
"What the hell?" she exclaimed, turning round and yelling, "Sam, you'd better see this!"  
Before Sam could get to her though, a long, thick tentacle began to rise up from the starfish and cocoon her. Sarah felt as if she was being transformed, converted even, into something inhuman. After a few seconds, the cocoon dissipated, revealing what Sarah had become: she had become a green, featureless, hairless humanoid, with a large eye in her chest, like the starfish.

Sam eventually noticed the tall green humanoid stood by the starfish and thought that it was just an extra from the new _Alien _movie.  
"Excuse me!" he called over to it, "This isn't your set. I think _Alien: Resurgence _is two doors down."  
The tall green humanoid turned round and advanced towards him, arms outstretched. The eyeball in its stomach was staring at Sam, making him feel absolutely afraid. Tendrils had begun growing from the humanoid's arms, back, head and legs and cocooning members of the camera crew, turning them into similarly horrifying creatures.  
Sam turned and ran for his life.

He decided to hide in an old wooden wardrobe that he'd bought from a charity shop a few days ago. What the hell was that strange starfish and what the hell was that strange green person with the eyeball in its stomach?  
That didn't matter. He'd just call the police. Or the army. Or even Torchwood. They'd sort this out. Hopefully.  
Thump.  
He heard a knock to his left. That must be the strange green zombie. He fumbled through his pockets and realised that he'd left his phone on the set. All he had were a packet of wine gums, his oyster card and a pen.  
Thump.  
That knock came from his right. That green zombie must be fast. Well, it now had several members of the camera crew at its disposal, so presumably they were all  
crowding round him.  
The knocking then stopped. Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

What he didn't realise, however, was that the green zombies outside were becoming a thick, green liquid and covering the wardrobe. The intermolecular energy from both the wardrobe and Sam was being harvested by the fluid.  
In a matter of moments, the wardrobe and Sam were dust. The fluid had reformed into several smaller green starfish, all with eyes at their centres, and there was no hope left at all.

**THE END**


	3. The Life of Jessie King

**The Life of Jessie King**

_Thursday 16 June, 2016._

David Williams is an absolute idiot. I try and convince him to use my idea but he just ignores me and moves on. I think I might get a new job as he just annoys me so much. I hope that things get easier for me. They probably will.

How are things at home? Well, they're fine really. Mum's considering renovating the bathroom at her house and my brother's just written a new book. Have you heard of it? It's called _The Strange Life of Jonathan Baker_. Apparently it's East Wimbledon's most popular book. It's about a boy who falls from the stars and builds a time machine using bits and bobs from his spaceship. I read it once over a cup of tea but it wasn't that interesting. The tea was nice though. I like tea. Especially Earl Grey. I do like Earl Grey.

There's a new TV show on tonight: _Shalko_. It's about this detective who's very corrupt and works with a serial killer to solve crimes. I'm a fan of murder mysteries. Poirot's overrated though. No matter how big the moustache.

_Friday 22 July, 2016._

Forgotten all about this. Sorry folks. Now, when did I last write here? June? Really? Hmm. How very weird. _Shalko _was good though. I liked the bit when the detective pushed a murderer off a building. Very thrilling.

Mum wants me to find a boyfriend before she goes to Henley Regatta. Why does she need to be an absolute pain? I just want to enjoy life, that's all. I remember when I was a child and life was just so much simpler back then. It was just go to pre-school, make friends, push people over and go home again. But now I've got to look after bank accounts and add up loads of numbers in a Microsoft Excel spreadsheet. How much more annoying can life be?

_Tuesday, 20th December 2016._

It's Christmas! Well, almost. Apparently there's going to be a new series of _Shalko _in the new year. I'm so looking forward to it.

Any other updates? Well, my sister's had a baby. It's a girl, in case any of you were wondering and she's decided to call her Charlotte. My sister, that is, not the baby. Just imagine, the baby deciding on my sister's new name.

I've bought my brother, Mark, an awesome Christmas present. I ordered it on Amazon but it hasn't arrived yet. Oh well. Looks like the jumper will have to wait for a little bit. I've bought my mum a bottle of champagne and I got my sister a nice cardigan and a book by Clare Balding. Who's Clare Balding? Google her.

We've got the tree all set up and ready. Mark _still _hasn't sorted out the turkey and Mum hasn't found the crackers from 1973. Yes, we still use crackers from 1973. Mum says it's cheaper. I say that there's a reason that it's cheaper.

_Sunday 1st January, 2017._

Happy New Year! Christmas was a blast. Mark received my jumper, after many calls to Amazon, and he gave me a lovely pair of slippers. I'm writing this very post and I can officially say that they are _so _snug.

How are we all then? Don't reply, because a) that's weird and b) you can't. I got fired from my accounting job and so I managed to get a new job. At the local cafe. I'm a barista now. Hooray!

Oh dear, Charlotte's crying now. Give me a moment.

There. That's sorted. Crisis averted. Baby is now asleep. Hallelujah.

_Thursday, 23rd March 2017._

Sorry for not updating my blog for a while. It's just that things have been hard recently. There have been a lot of tragedies all over the world. The destruction of CERN, two intruders in the Pentagon, the death of the President. I just don't know what's going on. Why would the President want to die?

_Friday, 24th March 2017._

I think this will be my last post, readers. Everyone's dying. Because the truth has been revealed. The _Veritas_ has found its way onto the Internet and it tells the truth about our world. Our Earth is a lie. This is a shadow world and we are just playthings for an alien force. I'd rather like to say two things before I go. Yes, you did read that right. I've rigged my desk to explode in ten minutes, starting from now.

Firstly, I want to say thank you for reading. You've been real friends to me and I liked how you commented so excellently.

Secondly, I want to say thank you to my family. They're dead now, but I hope that they're listening. They may have been a lie. I may have been a lie. But we lived happily. That, at least, is certain.

Goodbye, cruel world.


End file.
